


The Winter King

by Inspirationpersonified



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspirationpersonified/pseuds/Inspirationpersonified
Summary: Harry Potter is reborn in the world of Westeros.What will he do in this new world?Will it change the Game of Thrones?Will he even want to be a player in the game or will be he made a pawn?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter couldn't help but reminisce about his past and what a past it had been. 

He had spent the first few years of his life under constant fear of his own relatives, cringing at every loud voice raised against him and huddled in a cupboard. 

Then, the jolly big man had come to tell him that he was a wizard and Harry hadn't believed his luck. 

He had thought that Lady Luck had finally smiled upon him and that now he could be away from his abusive relatives. 

Alas, it was not to be. 

Even though he got to spend nine months away from them, it wasn't the paradise he had dreamed of. 

In the Wizarding World, he was raised onto a pedestal and he every move was under intense scrutiny. 

People loved and hated him due to their own misconceptions and even those who loved him, loved his fame and fortune more than the orphan boy. 

The person he had thought to be a general grandfather had raised him like a fat pig for slaughter, only waiting for the opportune moment to draw the blade and cut his life short. 

Those seven years at Hogwarts, well, six years, to be honest, hadn't been a bed of roses for him. 

It was a place where even the thought of his personal safety was laughable at best and a pipe dream at worst. 

Still, he had soldiered on. 

What had it gotten him in the end? 

Nothing but fake platitudes and more notoriety. 

When he had killed the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort, he had thought that this would be the end of all his troubles. 

That at least, now, he would be left to his own devices but how naive and wrong he had been. 

His so-called friends had once again turned against him and The Daily Prophet had started its new vendetta against him. 

Now he was being banded as the next budding Dark Lord. 

After all, only a Dark Lord could kill someone of such immense power as Lord Voldemort. 

The fact that Hermione and Ron had known about the Horcruxes was the final nail in the coffin against him. 

Hermione had correctly theorised that his ability to speak Parseltongue and the connection between him and Voldemort made him a Horcrux. 

It was the one time Harry cursed her for her brilliance. 

This little nugget had then made its way to Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt and from there to the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. 

That information had made the Unspeakables arrest him. 

The inner-circle of the Mom was worried that just like last time, Voldemort's soul might have escaped it's mortal shell and joined Harry once again. 

Well, Harry was loath to admit that they were right in their guess. 

He wondered who had made this leap of logic and if he could kill that person. 

See, the point was that Voldemort had tried to possess him but frankly, after the Horcrux had been removed, it had given Harry a boost in his magical power. 

The magical power which had earlier been used to surround the dormant Horcrux had been enough for Harry to fight and crush the remnant of Voldemort's soul. 

Though Harry had defeated the bastard, it had had the side-effect of Harry gaining all his knowledge and his own magic now had a ting of Darkness. 

He had tried to explain this to the Unspeakables many times but to no avail and this made him realise that no matter what he said, it would be pointless and fruitless. 

So, he had clamped up and his torture at the hands of the agustus body of MoM had begun. 

That was about an year ago.

Since they hadn't been able to extract any information from him, they had started using the Mind Arts. 

But, Voldemort's knowledge and his own magic had made it easy for him to learn Occlumency and Legilimency. 

It had been a slow-growing process but with his magic, it had protected his mind from being besieged and broken into. 

Now, in their infinite wisdom, the ministry had finally decided to be done with him. 

Instead of throwing him in Azkaban or having a Dementor suck his soul, they had decided to push him through the Veil of Death. 

And right now, he was on his way to the Death Chamber. 

Harry cursed all the people who were involved in this farce in his mind. 

At least, he would be able to meet his family in the afterlife. 

With this thought, he closed his eyes as two burly Aurors pushed him through the Veil. 

Harry found himself awake in a familiar station and saw a skeletal being with a scythe in his hand walking towards him at a sedate pace. 

Now, he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box but he could extrapolate that this entity was none other than Death. 

Within seconds he came to another conclusion that the only reason he would wake up in this carbon and whitewashed copy of King's Cross Station with Death would be that the tale of the Master of Death wasn't an exaggeration or a mortal title. 

It bound him to Death on a visceral level. 

It seemed that once again he would have to pay for the folly of people who thought themselves lives too smart. 

By this moment, the entity had stopped in front of him. 

Harry didn't have the flair of dramatics and didn't want Death to act as a mysterious being. 

Therefore, before the other being could say something, he took the initiative to start a conversation. 

"It seems that the joining of the three Hallows truly made me the Master of Death. What does the title entail and how does it impact me for the foreseeable future?" 

"Master, the title gives you the power of the three hallows intrinsically. As you are the master, I as your servant cannot take you to my realm. This means that either you can keep going back to your own universe or you can go to another one. The first option is invalid because along with your soul, your body is also absent from that world."

Harry sighed to himself at those words. 

But then the bling about it, he didn't have any family left in the Wizarding World. 

So, there was nothing to mourn for his past life. 

"This means I'll continue to shuttle from one world to another every time my mortal body grows too weak or I die. Well, I have nothing to say about it. Send me on my way." 

With a bow towards its Master, Death sent the soul, magic and intelligence of one Harry Potter into the body of a new life that was just beginning to form in Westeros.


	2. Chapter 2

All in all, Harry wanted to kick himself in the ass for not getting further information from Death about where he was going. 

On top of that, he had assumed that when Death sent him on this next great adventure - please, note the sarcasm, he would possess someone's body. 

As in, a better merging of soul and body than the one Voldemort tried with Quirrell or even himself. 

But, what he got instead was being wrapped up in warm, squishy water. 

Now, mind you, the first time Harry felt those sensations, he thought he came into the body of a young child who was being bathed. 

More fool him. 

However, when he noticed that this feeling surrounded him all the freaking time, he freaked out and started almost thrashing. 

Still, that was to his detriment because he realised that he didn't have much space to throw a tantrum and that was how ladies and gentlemen our 'Chosen One' realised that he was yet to be born and inside someone's tummy. 

After a mini or a major freak out, Harry decided not to pay much attention to it and slowly started feeling for his magical core. 

The magical core was almost below his teeny tiny heart and whenever he grew bored - which was in truth, all the time, he would concentrate on that magical ball and try to make it flow through his developing veins. 

A few months later, he opened his eyes to see that his head was being pushed out of the confines of another human being's tummy. 

Well, the birthing was exhausting, painful for him and his mother and entirely too embarrassing for him. 

He thanked all the gods that humans didn't remember the first few years of their lives because it was surreal. 

He would never be able to look at other women and thin 'oh, she is hot and sexy'. 

All he would be able to think will be, 'Aima, that beauty will go through so much pain'. 

Anyways, that is a story for another time. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw a frail-looking woman cleaning all the bloody bits from him. She looked like a nurse so thankfully, he wasn't worn to his mother at a late age. 

But then when he took stock of his surroundings, he felt worse because from the look of this bare and rickety room he was born in less than opulent family. 

Now, Harry wasn't one to be snobbish but his life experiences had taught him that having money meant having the backing and from the look of things, he wasn't born in times of equality so nobody could fault him for thinking about his future. 

Before he could think further, the nurse made an odd noise and he turned his head to see that his mother's bleeding hadn't stopped and the bedsheet underneath her was died red with blood. 

In a feeble voice, his mother asked the nurse, "how is the child?" 

"He is healthy, my lady. Please stay strong for the young tyke."

With those words, his mother took him in her arms. 

As he looked at her, even in such a condition where she had just given birth, the lady was a vision of beauty. 

Or maybe that was just his own familial instincts coming into play. 

"Oh! My sweet child, Mama loves you. Don't ever doubt that, my sweetling. I wish I could have been strong then but I was a fool who got swept away in romantic notions."

From the words, Harry could extrapolate that the lady had been conned into either marrying his father on the notions of love and romance or she had run away from her family. 

It seemed that the man had left her behind. 

It felt like a poor cosmic joke on his part. In the last life, his parents had given up their lives for him and in this one, the father was either absent or neglectful.

If Harry had paid attention to his surroundings, he would have heard the sound of the clash of swords downstairs. 

Meanwhile, Lyanna Stark knew that her end was near so she simply kissed her child on the brow.

She knew that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone was died by the hands of her betrothed Robert Baratheon.

Even that knowledge didn't make the guilt of having her father, her brother and so many Northern's killed for her flight of fancy, for her stupidity and naivety. 

Many people had died for her and she wondered if the Old Gods would forgive her impertinence.

All the more, she was worried about her small baby who wasn't even an hour old as of yet. 

If a new dynasty was established, he would be in danger from the new King. 

If the Targaryen's kept the throne and the line of succession then her child would be an eyesore to Princess Elia Martell of Dorne and with her the entire Dornish continent. 

If Viserys Targaryen sat upon the Iron Throne then he would also kill her child so as to not have another Blackfyre Rebellion on his hands. 

Oh, if she could only go back to the past and stop herself for committing to such an idiotic path. 

She wondered if Wolf's Blood was a polite euphemism for recklessness.

She had been reckless to think that the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms could fall in love with her with a single look. 

She had thought that since Robert was fucking wenches day in and day out, she too could give away her first time to someone she loved rather than to that brute.

Brandon had been reckless to go to King's Landing and demand the Crown Prince's head. 

Not only had he pushed himself into the eye of the storm, but he had also signed the warrant of death for his companions - the Heir to the House of Arryn in the Vale.

Her father had died for her folly. 

Oh, how she dreaded that the truth would come out. 

If anyone knew that she had married Rhaegar Targaryen in front of the Old Gods and the New, they would lynch her. 

How stupid she had been to think it was romantic?

Robert Baratheon had instead plunged the realm into the blood for his betrothed, for her and she had figuratively slapped him while running away with another man. 

The news that had filtered here said that Robert, Eddard and Jon Arryn had made an alliance to fight against the tyranny of the Targaryens.

If three kingdoms out of seven knew of her wilful actions, it would spell doom for the North for the next few centuries. 

She had had the past year to think about her actions and their ramifications. 

If it was known that she had run away from her engagement to the Lord Paramount of Stormlands, the Stormlands and the Vale will have a debt of blood against the North. 

That was if the Northerns forgave her for getting their kin killed for her flights of fancy. 

To top it all off, Dorne would vie for Northern blood if they knew that Rhaegar had divorced Elia Martell in order to marry her. 

Thinking a bit further, this would be the second time that the daughter of the erstwhile Hand of the King. Another Lord Paramount that would be against the North and her child. 

She regretted her decisions and the road that she had walked upon but now, the end was near and it was a bittersweet relief to know that she wouldn't make any more decisions that would lead to further carnage and death.


	3. Chapter 3

Before Lyanna could spiral down in thoughts of regret, the door to her room was slammed open. 

Without much light in the room, she could only see the silhouette of the person standing there. 

The man had full body armour and his blade was half-raised with blood dripping from it like a pitter-patter of raindrops. 

For a single second, her breathing seized and she felt that her heart would drop out of her along with all the blood that was leaving her body and then the man entered the room with a whispered, "Lya". 

At that moment, all Lyanna Stark - the girl who had plunged the Seven Kingdoms into rebellion could do was give a small smile to the man. 

"My Lord, these are the birthing chambers. You cannot enter them willy nilly." 

The siblings were broken out of their respective thoughts at that tart voice. 

Eddard Stark took menacing steps and was looming over the nurse within a few seconds. 

"Pray shut your gab, women before I do it for you permanently." 

"My… My…"

"Shut it. Not another word out of you unless I ask something of you." 

With those words, he turned his back on the blubbering mess and turned towards his sister. 

Gently he walked towards where Lyanna was lying on the bed. 

When he had left King's Landing, he had had many thoughts as was his wont in the days since he had realised that his sister was kidnapped by the Prince of Dragonstone. 

He knew that a maiden staying with a young man, a Prince at that, wouldn't be able to fight off his advances, what with the Prince having three Kingsguard men with him. 

However, it still broke his heart to see his sister with a child in her blossom and tears dripping down her cheeks. 

Ned took a seat at the side stool that was placed beside the bed and cupped Lyanna's cheeks in his hands. 

"Oh, Lya. Sister, I am so sorry that I am so late."

Meanwhile, Lyanna felt as if she was again that six years old girl who had fallen from her pony and wanted her big brother's arms around her because she knew he would keep her safe. 

"Ned, I…I am so sorry. Dad died because of me. We lost Bran and so many other Northern men. It is all my fault. I…" 

Ned cut off her words. 

"No, don't cry. Though some of the blame for everything that happened can be laid at your feet, you aren't the only one at fault." 

When he saw his sister with a befuddled look on her face, he was once again reminded that Lyanna hadn't been ever interested in learning about Politics from their mother and after her death, from the new Maester. 

He took a fortifying breath and continued. 

"Father was chafing at the bit to make some Southern Connections all his life so he bartered his children for those connections. The Heir of Winterfell to the Riverlands, his spare to the Vale and I in my infinite wisdom thought that you would make a good companion to Robert Baratheon."

"What? What do you mean?" 

Ned gave a mirthless chuckle at the surprised look on Lyanna's face. 

"Oh, don't be so surprised, sister. I may not be as smart as Brandon but I am smart enough to see political machinations."

"I shouldn't have turned a blind eye to Robert's faults. Oh, everybody is singing praises for the Stag who misses his Winter Rose but I saw how he shared his bed with whore every single night of the army march." 

In years past, Lyanna had thought that she would feel vindicated if Ned realised that his friend wasn't the paragon of virtue he thought him to be, but now that the moment had come, all she felt was a hollow emptiness. 

"Although the path was laid with good intentions all around, the destination seems to only have hurt House Stark." 

At his words, Lya felt her eyes brimming up with tears one again. 

"Anyways, this is not the time to lament action or inaction on our parts. Show me, my nephew or niece. Let me have a look." 

With trembling hands, Lyanna passed her son to her brother and when she didn't see a flicker of aversion on Ned's face, she inadvertently gave a sigh of relief. 

To her astonishment, Ned seemed to have realised the cause behind her actions because he raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. 

"Enough Starks have died in our generation. Why would I want to kill the next one as well? Or do you think me to be so craven as to be a kinslayer?" 

She shook her head like a rattle-drum. 

"No. It's not that. You know who his father is, don't you? I feared that this knowledge might make you turn him away."

"No. Never. I am sorry to ask this of you but is he a trueborn?" 

"Yes. Yes. That bastard forced me to marry him in front of the Old Gods and the New." 

"Oh. I thought that you would have been happy to marry the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. I recall how you used to make moon eyes at him at Harrenhal when you thought nobody would notice."

His abrupt words stopped Lyanna from saying any more. They felt like a tight slap on her face. 

Oh, if Ned had noticed her folly then what about others? How many of them would be able to come to the right conclusions or extrapolate the truth? 

Still, the words pricked her like a thousand hot needles poking at her heart. 

She knew the implications behind Ned's words. 

She knew that he had somehow come to the right conclusion that she had run away from the North in defiance of her marriage to Robert. 

"I… I don't have any excuses…" 

"Good. Because I wouldn't be able to stomach them if you say something to absolve yourself of the blame."

Those words roused Wolf's Blood in her. 

"Well, if you hate me so much. Why didn't you say the truth to others? Why not tell them that I ran away from the brute you thought was a good choice for your sister?" 

"And what? Make House Stark a laughing stock? As if it wasn't enough that the Heir to Winterfell almost signed our deaths with his shouts of wanting the Crown Prince's head in full view of the entire court. Should I have compounded the problem by telling others that my sister had left behind her responsibilities for a fairytale romance which likely wouldn't end well for her?"

As soon as Eddard started speaking, it was as if a dam had broken and all his pent up frustrations reared their head and the words gushed out. 

"Wouldn't that make you a harlot lusting after a married man at worst and a power-hungry bitch at best? Should I also invite the Dornish to kill the Starks in their keeps all over the North in their sleep for your folly? The main branch and the cadet branches."

"Or, should I be called a coward spinning tales to save my skin and keep the North from marching its army and lose all the respect Starks has garnered in the last eight thousand years."

Ned Stark knew that he shouldn't speak about such things with his sister so soon after meeting her after such a long time but the mental pressure he had been under hadn't been easy. 

Still, he knew it was no use crying over spilt milk. 

"Anyways, let bygones be bygones."

Before, they could speak further, the wet nurse interrupted them, "My Lord, I haven't been able to stop the bleeding. How should I proceed?" 

Those words cast an even dimmer parlour over the dim room that didn't have sufficient lightning fixtures.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya Folks,  
> What do you think of the chapter?  
> Good? Bad?  
> Do tell me in the comments.  
> Sending loads of hugs your way.  
> SJ


End file.
